


Thanatophobia

by SireDisco



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Camerashipping, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I hurt my boys, I'm so sorry, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Journalism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miles Upshur Goes to Therapy, Not Beta Read, Overworking, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SireDisco/pseuds/SireDisco
Summary: Thanatophobia- an anxiety triggered by constant thoughts of either one’s own death, or a loved one’s demise.-Rating/tags subject to change!-
Relationships: Blake Langermann/Lynn Langermann, Waylon Park/Miles Upshur
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Sound

**Author's Note:**

> He choked back a sob and swallowed the rising bile. He shivered, not from the cold. His hands had grown clammy and shaky. Waylon faltered for his glasses he had placed on the bedside table, finding them in the dark.  
> \---  
> A few years ago, I used to write -really- bad Outlast fics (seen by a few select eyes, if I ever find them, I might post them), so I guess this is my attempt at a redemption arc. I am not a good writer, in any way, but I tried something different(?) from my other fic, so, enjoy!

There was the thick scent of death and decay in the air. Rot spread from the center of the space to the very edges, spindles of spun, black threads overtaking the bones. 

A man was at the center of this mess, his body covered in black blood and boiling pus. His life was long gone, his last breath left his body long before the rot had come. 

There was an unnerving beauty to this painting. The way the light was filtered through dingy glass and overgrown trees. Shadows cast from the decades of urban decay were cast upon the apostle’s lifeless form.

A long broken camera had been dropped from his hands. Its glass shattered and metal casing dented and scratched. 

The world was silent. The noise of life now quieted and snuffed out.

The faint song of birds and the squeaking of far-off mice was heard in the decrepit building. The moan and sigh of rusting metal sent shivers down the spines of whomever passed by. 

It was serene. Perfect. The undisturbed relic of a world that once was, now forgotten and left to time. 

\------

Waylon’s eyes snapped open, his whole body shooting up, releasing him from the grip of sleep. Cold sweat dripped down his back, tears filling and clouding his eyes. 

He choked back a sob and swallowed the rising bile. He shivered, not from the cold. His hands had grown clammy and shaky. Waylon faltered for his glasses he had placed on the bedside table, finding them in the dark. The light of the digital clock now clear and illuminated once his glasses had made his vision clear. It read 5:47 AM, just a few minutes before his alarm would ring. He sighed and pressed himself off the bed. He glanced back at the bed before quickly looking away, the pain lingering.

He walked out of the bedroom and stumbled into the bathroom, switching on the harsh, white light. The sudden brightness made Waylon blink, his eyes watering as he shielded them from the light that ravaged his retinas. He closed the door behind him, making sure the light and noise wouldn’t leak into the other rooms of the house. Waylon took a step forward and placed his hands on either side of the sink, gripping the cold, marble countertop. He lifted his head to meet his eyes in the mirror, blinking at the light once again.

He looked haunted in the mirror’s harsh sheen. Dark bags under his emphasized and made him a walking corpse. Shadows under his cheekbones had darkened, bones pressing against paper-thin skin. He let out a weak cough, praying that it wasn't going to disrupt the quiet. Waylon sniffled and ran a shaking hand through short, blond hair. It stuck up in every direction, he’d been trying to grow it after he shaved it. After he had. . . Waylon shook the thoughts out of his head, wanting to starve the memories away. 

He reached out to turn on the faucet, letting cold water flow onto his hands. He splashed some on his face, hoping to brighten his eye and wash away the old tears. Waylon picked up a towel and dried his face, mopping the water up and drying what got in his hair. He stepped away from the mirror to sit on the lid of the toilet, letting his body slump forward. He put his head in his hands, another wave of tears starting to rise. 

What seemed like an eternity had passed in the bathroom, yet when Waylon left the cramped room, it was just turning to 5:55 AM. He scrambled to turn the alarm that was inevitable. He just missed the snooze button, sending a blaring sound through the bedroom. He cringed away and turned it off after a few seconds. It was still too late, the other figure in the bed had been woken. He slowly attempted to sneak out of the room before a groggy voice croaked out.

“Way? What. . . why are you up?” The other figure sat up, blinking the tiredness out of his eyes and flicking the lamp on. The other man’s face now illuminated by a soft glow. 

“Hey, Miles,” Waylon whispered, moving back to the bed and crawling across the bed to sit next to Miles.

Miles yawned and stretched out his limbs, his remaining fingers spreading as he reached up towards the dark headboard. He shifted and turned to face Waylon, his dark eyes still foggy with sleep. A dark mop of hair was stuck up in every direction, laugh curls now knotted. He sighed, laying his head onto the lap of the older man.

“You alright?” Waylon brushed hair from the younger’s eyes, brushing his cheek lightly.

Miles nodded, yawning once again, “I didn’t sleep, too much happening,” he vaguely gestured to his head, “Up there.”

Waylon let out a soft laugh, “Yeah, I get that. But, don’t you have work off today?”

“Yeah, therapy, but no office.”

“That’s good, tell Lynn I say hi. Or don’t. Maybe don’t tell her I say hi,” Waylon smiled, that woman had always scared him. Even after knowing Blake for so long, his wife could be. . . intimidating, to say the least. 

Miles nodded and swung his legs off the side of the bed and wandered to the pile of forgotten laundry, pulling whatever was on top, out. He waved back to Waylon as he walked to take a shower. The door shut softly as he left the bedroom, the shower was running a few moments later. Faint, muffled music could be barely heard by the blond. 

Waylon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, suddenly realizing the building headache. He groaned and allowed his body to fall back into the pillows and bed, hitting his head on the headboard. He grimaced, rubbing where the two equally hard surfaces had met. All he did was readjust so his head would actually rest on a pillow. He drifted off into blissful, dreamless sleep again. Nothing but the noise of falling water and the air conditioner filled his ears. 

Before long, the shower was turned off and the hairdresser started up. The music was turned up and the drum beat of a familiar song could be felt in the walls. Miles’ raspily yelled out some of the words he knew, only humming the ones he hadn’t memorized. The door flew open and there he was, damp hair that had been fluffed, eyes closed as he stumbled over lyrics that were screamed into an imaginary microphone. He laughed as the song faded out and looked into Waylon’s eyes.

“Hey,” Miles smirked, winking at the man seated on the bed.

Waylon stared at him, “Miles, please, put on some damn clothes.”

He sighed and slumped, faking disappointment as he grumbled away to the bathroom, “Fine, ya’ killjoy.” 

“I heard that!”

“That’s the point!”

Waylon chuckled, glanced at the clock and decided to get dressed for work. He heaved himself off the bed, almost falling over, and opened the closet doors. He pondered his options, yellow sweater, yellow sweater, cream sweater, yellow sweater- He settled on the cream sweater and threw on some light wash jeans. The sweater hung loosely off his slight frame, once fitting perfectly. He sighed and took it off, slipping an undershirt and collared shirt on and then replacing the sweater. The man let out a weak laugh and slipped his computer into the messenger bag hung on a chair. 

“You’re gonna leave me so soon?”

Waylon whipped around, his heart pounding in his chest. His hand flew to his heart, gripping the fabric for dear life. He realized it was Miles and released his shirt, sighing and letting his shoulders fall back down.

“Hey, you okay, hon?” Miles stepped toward him and grabbed Waylon’s hand.

“Yeah, yeah, you just. . . surprised me. Coming out of nowhere like that,” He chuckled.

He shook his head, blinking as he sat on the floor to grab the worn pair of chucks. Somehow, the shoes that had been bought only a few months ago were already fading and the rubber of the soles had been smoothed. Miles crouched next to Waylon and leaned on the older man's shoulder. He mumbled sweet nothings in his ear and rubbed his back as the blond put on his shoes.

“Baby, you have therapy in,” he glanced at his watch, “35 minutes. I’ll drive you there.”

“No, no, it’s okay, you have to work.”

“Miles, I start at 8, I just like getting there early to set up and help out around the office. Blake is always alone there anyways,” Waylon used his lover's arm as a support to get off the floor.

Miles scoffed and stood back up, “Fine, let’s go then. Think we have time to get coffee?”

“If you mean tea, then yes.”

“No, I mean coffee- Nevermind, you idiot.”

“Shut up, you love me,” Waylon nuzzled the man’s neck.

“I do, but you’re annoying,” He kissed the blond’s head.

They smiled at each other, locking eyes. Waylon sighed and took Miles’ hand in his own and rubbed his rough knuckles.

“God, I love you,” He breathed it out under his breath.

“I love you too,” Miles whispered, taking the short man’s face in his hands and kissed his lips.

He reciprocated and let out a breath. They stayed there for a minute until Miles pulled back, “Come on, let’s get going.”

Waylon smiled and nodded. He grabbed the key ring off the table and his bag. Miles gave him side-eye, glancing from him to the keys.

“What?”

“You’re really gonna drive?”

“Yes! I can drive, I’m not a child, you twat,” Waylon hissed.

Miles blinked, “Last time you drove my Jeep, you left at the fuckin’ mad-”

“I thought we agreed to not talk about that,” Waylon gripped the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up.

Miles raised his hands in the air, “Yeah, yeah, but it’s still funny.”

Waylon shook his head, “Sure.”

“Whatever, I want coffee. I’ll let you drive, just don’t ruin her, I just got new tires.”

Waylon playfully punched Miles’ arm and then took his hand in his own. They walked out the door together and smiled at each other. They whispered quietly to each other in the early morning light, separating their hands as they climbed into the raised car. 

The rumble of the engine perforated the quiet morning as the two drove off.


	2. Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bromance of two dudes is unbreakable. Exhibit A: Waylon and Blake in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did my writing style change in a week? Yes. Yes it did. Did I really enjoy writing this chapter since I only like writing slice-of-life bits and am horrible with drama and suspense? Yes. Enjoy!

Waylon pulled into his parking spot, nestled between a planter filled with dying plants and Blake Langermann’s car, The contrast between Miles’ red Jeep and Blake’s Expedition was fascinating. The cars were roughly the same age, been on countless journeys, and yet the red Jeep was scraped, paint was missing, it’s windows had an irremovable layer of grime stuck to it. 

He slid out of the car, grabbing his bag off the floor as he did. On his way past the hood of the car and gave it a pat. Immediately, regretting it, he brushed it on his jeans. Cold wind hit his face, blowing his coat open as Waylon gripped his bag. He grumbled to himself as he half-jogged to the building’s door. 

It wasn’t a massive office building, but it wasn’t a single-story. It had four floors, the ground floor was just general offices for building managers, parking spot listings, office number listings, receptionists, and some ATM’s and vending machines. As he shuffled through the glass doors, Waylon flipped his messenger bag open and groped for his lanyard and badge. He mumbled the words on the plastic card to himself, assuring that it was his own name and picture. 

Waylon nodded, scanned his card at the front desk, and walked into the stuffy elevator. They had definitely turned on the heater, which was going to mess up his entire workflow for the day. The elevator dinged and the doors slid in, a bumbling intern gave him a nod, doubled back and apologized, then barreled out the door with a list of drinks written down. 

“Poor kid,” Waylon shook his head as he clicked the button for floor three, it dimly lighting up. 

With a jolt, the elevator started rising, along with his anxiety. As soon as the door opened, he squeezed himself through the still opening gap. He smoothed his clothes down and shook his head, a shiver ran down his spine as Waylon walked to the door that opened up into the small office. He had worked for this small paper for almost three years, working IT as well as writing some articles and helping out field crews. 

There was never a strict structure there, you sat at your desk, that was the same, but you ate whenever you wanted to, you could leave for a break but had to make it up that week, just get your work done. There wasn’t even a hierarchy, just varying degrees of priorities. Field teams ruled, next was photographers, interviewers, journalists, service crews, interns, and then the lowly managerial staff. 

If Blake, one the highest regarded field team members and an incredible writer, had any issue, Waylon or an intern would run to help him in an instant. If a backup failed, anyone who knew how to recover was working on it. This never negatively impacted anyone’s due dates or time. Hell, if an intern needed help, anyone with hands would help them. They were vital to the entire function of the office. They had no strict hours, leave when you’re told to go, and if you stay, you can help whoever. Most were college students or younger than most of the staff, so if they needed to go, they could. Waylon remembered his unofficial “assistant”, a senior in journalism at the local community college.

It was for credit, he didn’t want to be there, but he was stuck there. Waylon was given the job of orientation, giving the new kids a tour, and giving them their first job of the day. A handful went to get specifics from writers, some worked cameras, and then the one left got stuck with Waylon.

For an entire six months, they worked very closely with Blake’s team and would occasionally work on Waylon’s articles on the rising corporate security and how it impacts the people. When those six months ended, he and his “assistant” had a very tearful party and goodbye, they were close and Waylon helped him find his passion for writing and discovering. 

He pivoted towards his desk placed by the westmost window, tossed the bag on the chair, just missing the back of the chair and his messenger bag landed on the floor.

“Ah, shit,” he mumbled and waved his hand at it, walking away.

He stuck his arms out in front of him and stretched them forward as we wandered to the dingy coffee machine. He prayed that some early-riser of an intern had come and made coffee, considering only Blake’s car and some janitorial staff cars were in the lot, he seriously doubted it. 

Waylon started the coffee, dumping the day old batch into the sink and filling up the pot to the topmost line and guesstimating the amount of coffee grounds to throw in. The smell of cheap coffee filled his nose, it coating his tongue. He sniffled and started the machine. With a click and whir, caffeine began to brew. He set out a few mugs, making sure to label the ones certain people used. Waylon’s was an old mug from some souvenir shop in Arizona, the painting of where it was from was completely washed away, a stain of colour just left over. 

He glanced at the clock, the minute hand just ticking past 7:15, Miles should be with Lynn now, which means he’d come by to get lunch orders for the office in a few hours. As he listened to the coffee drip into the pot, he checked his phone and texted Blake.

You: Where are you??? 

Blake (The Good One): im waiting for alex to come in

You: He said he was getting here at 830, it’s barely 720

Blake (The Good One): but he said he bought more coffee and i forgot to make some

Blake (The Good One): wait are you inside????

You: Yes, I’m making coffee right now, get your ass inside

Blake (The Good One): k ill be up in a sec 

Waylon shut off his phone, shoving back into his pocket and turned back to watching the coffee maker drip. He sighed and pushed himself off the counter, meandering over to the table adjacent to the kitchenette’s small counter and sink. 

The blond set the cups on the table as well as a few notes on how to make the coffee without short-circuiting the whole building. Just as he finished and went to sit at his desk, Blake came bursting through the doors, waving sheets of paper and screaming out to only him.

“We got the grant! Waylon, Waylon, Way! Look! We got the fucking grant!” He leapt towards him, throwing the sheets onto the closet desk as he fell into the other man.

“Holy shit, no way. Really! We got it?” Waylon pushed Blake off him, and stood up again.

“Yeah! Do you know what that means? We can buy not shit cameras and afford more coffee and get new desks and actually get real field tech and-”

“I know, I know, Blake. Calm down for a minute. This is amazing, yes, but we,” Waylon pointed from his chest to Blake’s, “We aren’t in charge of this. Alex and Miriam are. Do you want to work on making a presentation for later this week? We can get the teams’ votes on what they want.”

Blake furrowed his brow and chewed on his cheek, he nodded, “Yeah, yeah, let’s do that. Once everyone gets in, we can start that and then when Lynn and Miles come for lunch, we can work on it? Or we could wait to do that tomorrow night. Tonight Lynn and I have a date, we’re going to that new restaurant in the city. You know the one, it’s the Japanese fusion one. With the big doors and stuff. I’ve heard great stuff about it, I just don’t know if she’ll like it-”

“Blake, she’ll love it. Now, get your coffee. When the interns get here, I’ll ask Austin and them people to get a list together of what everyone wants from the grant and what they want for lunch. Does that work for you?” Waylon placed a hand on his shoulder, the two men were similar heights, Blake being an inch or two taller than Waylon and less lanky. He glanced over at the machine and labeled cups.

“Yeah, okay, thanks. I don’t know where I’d be without you, man. I- Did you label the coffee cups?” Blake paused, staring at Waylon for an answer.

“Well, yeah, that way no one gets a cup they don’t like. I got you the white and green one Miles got you last year, I’ve seen you use that on Wednesdays a lot, so I thought it’d be ok.”

Blake shrugged, a slight smile on his lips. He picked up the cup and poured a full cup of coffee, sipping it and squinting, “Did you use different beans for this, Way?” He cocked an eyebrow, “It tastes. . . different from how it usually does.”

“I used what was at the bottom of the bag, man.”

“Hm, alright,” Blake chugged half his cup, snatched the papers he had thrown down, and went to his desk.

Waylon sighed, ready to muddle through his day of editing some columns and fixing a few computers in other offices. 

\-----

The clock hit 11:45 and Waylon got a text from Miles saying him and Lynn were on their way over.

He shot a glance at Blake and he stood up, “Alright, interns! Get over here! If you’re busy, cool, but anyone free, come here, please!”

Blake gave notepads and pens to the gaggle of interns and they went around scratching orders down under names along with grant requests. The twenty orders were listed, some left blank, others had multitudes of items. After a few minutes, one girl came over to Waylon, just sitting back and downing his third mug of coffee.

“Sir, uhm, what do you want for lunch? Mr. Langermann’s wife and Mr. Park’s friend are buying the office lunch and-” She tapped her pen against the paper, barely looking at him.

“I don’t need anything, Blake and I are picking it up with Lynn and Miles. And by the way, Zoe, was it?” Waylon grabbed his cup and stood up, leaning his hand on the desk.

“Yeah, Zoe Allan,” She gave a nod and continued to stare down.

“We are all on a first name basis in this office, alright? Blake is Mr. Langermann, call him Blake. Lynn is his wife, I’m Mr. Park, call me Waylon. Miles is my boyfriend, hopefully fiancé, call him Miles. By the end of this week, my assignment for you, is to learn everyone’s first name or at least ask them what it is. Alright? Can you do that for me?” Waylon tentatively placed a hand on Zoe’s shoulder.

She nodded and mumbled a thank you and yes sir. She quickly walked away and handed Blake her notepad before sitting back down and began to talk to a writer about his article. He enthusiastically explained it and asked for her to read what he had so far. 

Blake waved his hand frantically at Waylon, urging him to get up so they could go and meet Miles and Lynn outside.

\-----

Lunch went by quickly, the time disappearing into dust. Waylon sighed and downed another swig of whatever Miles had made him and ran his hand through his hair. The sun was lower than it usually was, winter dawning on them. The taste of mint and alcohol entered him, a wave of cold gripping his body.

“Do you like it?” Miles leaned across the picnic bench they had commandeered in front of the office. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. No clue why you’re giving me fucking alcohol at one in the afternoon, but I’ll drink it,” Waylon shook his head in confusion and continued to drink. 

“You looked like you needed it before you dropped me with Lynn. I made it at her place while we talked about you and Blake. She loves that man, you know that?”

“What do you mean I needed it? And yes, I do know that. I was at their wedding and so were you.”

He leaned into the blond more, one hand taking Waylon’s and brushing his knuckles softly. He leaned and kissed him softly, “I love you that way, Way. I wish I could do this in a more formal setting, but. . .” Miles let out a chuckle, smiling and sitting back down.

Waylon raised his eyebrows in concern, “I love you too, Miles. Are you- Are you proposing to me?”

“I guess I am! It’s not good, I didn’t get a ring, I didn’t think it would fit,” Miles waved his left hand at Waylon, showing off the nub where his ring finger once was. 

“You fucking idiot, I love you so much. I would marry you if you asked me on my deathbed,” Waylon moved over to Miles’ side of the table and pulled him into a kiss, hugging him tightly.

They stayed like that until Blake interrupted, “Hey, Waylon, I need you on the floor, bud- Oh, should I go? Or. . .? Sorry, Miles, I need to steal your boyfriend for a few hours. You can screw around at your house!” Blake called back, waving as he pulled Waylon up by his arm and dragged him away.

“Blake, what the Hell?” Waylon forced himself out of the man’s grip, taking a step away from him. He brushed his coat into place and rubbed his arm.

“Look, I know there was something important happening, but I need your help. Alex wants to use the grant to get a new air conditioner and since he’s technically the highest in power, we can’t do much-”

“Blake, calm down. We have till next week Thursday to figure this out, alright? We can send the field teams home and some of the writers out, and get to work, alright? If we can get everyone out by four, we’re good, right?” Waylon stopped him in front of the doors, forcing the taller man to look at him.

“Yeah, yeah. That gives me three hours to get ready. Can we go to my house for this? You’ll have to leave by six.”

Waylon nodded, “That’s perfect. Now let’s go, we just have to get through a few hours, alright?”

The two headed back up into the stuffy office and started their jobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I messed up here and there, but I tried-


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some chaos, Miles being shitty, and then more chaos. All around a weird day for Waylon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am s o sorry for this chapter- This one in particular is just all over the place. I didn't want to split them up, so I just slammed them all together and it came out as big fucking mess. So- uh- here's that-

Blake slammed his head down onto his dining room table, groaning. He slammed his laptop closed and leaned backwards in his chair, lifting the front two legs off the floor. He looked at Waylon, exhaustion and pain in his eyes.

“Waylon, I am going to kill myself. I can no longer go on. Why can’t Alex just let us, the unofficial rulers of the land, figure out budgeting?” He leaned forward again, the chair slamming into the floor again.

“Be careful. But, I don’t know. We help distribute checks, I take care of electricity bills now, you take care of the field teams’ expenses, and both Lynn and Miles do food. They don’t even work there!” Waylon threw his hands up, almost knocking over his glass of water onto the hardwood floor of Blake and Lynn’s apartment. 

They stared at the list of wishes from the employees. Glancing at his open laptop, Waylon quickly typed up some notes and opened an email to Miriam. Blake leaned over to watch him as he typed.

“Hey, why are you writing to Miriam? She said to do what we needed with it, Alex is the issue, man.”

“That’s exactly why I’m emailing her. She’ll listen to us, I’m asking her to talk to Alex about it. She’ll hopefully be on our side.”

Blake pursed his lips, nodded and reopened his computer, immediately closed it again and stood up, knocking over his chair.

“You alright, Blake?” Waylon sent the email as he turned to face the other man.

“Yes, no, no, I’m not. I have to get ready, Lynn’s gonna be back any minute. Get out, please. Thanks for coming over, see you,” He glanced at his watch, “On Friday.”

“Yeah, ok, see you. Good luck, Miles should be picking me up, since you drove me here, so I’ll call him.”

“Cool, cool,” Blake nodded absentmindedly as he gathered up his stuff and ran to the bedroom. Before he closed the door, he peaked out and yelled, “Bye! Have a good night!”

Waylon shot a thumbs up and locked the door on his way out.

\-----

He sighed, kicking his feet as he sat on the metal bench outside the apartment building, waiting to see the red of Miles’ beloved Jeep. 

Waylon closed his eyes, shivering as cold wind blew in through the buildings. He gripped his arms, rubbing up and down to generate any form of friction for warmth. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged his knees. He let his forehead rest on them, ignoring the uncomfortable creases of his jeans and let the minimal warmth spread. 

After a few minutes, panic spread through his body. He looked up to see the perpetrator. It was the Jeep’s signature honk. Waylon breathed in a sharp breath, calming his unruly heart. Miles almost honked again, but stopped after much consideration. He mouthed “sorry” at the man out in the cold.

Waylon flipped him off, and threw open the door, climbed into the worn passenger side seat.

“You asshole. Fuck you,” Waylon set his bag down by his feet and cranked the heater up.

“What did I do? You just called me fifteen minutes ago!” Miles gripped the steering wheel, staring ahead at the road, not even looking at Waylon.

“We live five minutes away! It’s not even rush hour!” Waylon threw his hands up, turning as far as he could towards Miles. 

“I had to grab a coat. I grabbed another for you since you left with just a sweater and your linen fucking coat. It’s not my fault you’re cold. Calm the fuck down, Christ.”

Waylon clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He took a deep breath in, “Miles, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out then. Thank you for grabbing me a coat, I was stupid this morning.”

Miles exhaled sharply out his nose and just stared forward, “Whatever. It’s fine.”

“Miles, please. I know some. . . stuff, went down earlier. I’m sorry about that, Blake was an unexpected interruption. Can we talk when we get back home?”

Miles glanced at Waylon, turning in the opposite direction of the house and towards downtown, “Sure, we’ll discuss it when we get back.”

“Miles, where are we going?” He waited for a response, Miles just kept driving. Fear pricked the back of his mind, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. “Miles? Miles!” Waylon reached for his shoulder.

“You’ll see soon. We won’t be there for long,” Miles sped up, almost running a red light, swinging the Jeep into a tight turn into some back alleyway.

Waylon gripped the door handle, knuckles white, “Miles what the Hell!”

He didn’t hear his cry, and instead just kept going, down the impossibly long alley. He finally slammed on the brakes next to a dumpster. Waylon stayed where he was, watching as Miles hopped out of the car onto the trash-littered pavement.

“Get out.” Miles stared at the frozen blond expectantly.

“What? No! I don’t even know where the Hell we are!” Waylon moved as far as possible from Miles, becoming one with the door of the car. 

He scoffed at him, disappearing around the back of the Jeep. Waylon pushed himself off the door and fell onto the center console. It was flung open by the other man, his other hand grabbing onto Waylon’s ankle. 

White-hot fear gripped his body, sending sparks and live wires up his spine and down his limbs. Panic became bees, swarming his vision and mind, Stinging the lobes and nodes, creating a muddled world. The strong grip of Miles’ hand sent Waylon to a worse time.

Visions came back. A scared face, bright eyes against dark world. Shadows hanging from the ceiling. The cries of a broken man. Soft singing echoing down endless halls.

He started to thrash around, kicking and clawing at the seats. A sudden yank from the man outside the car caused Waylon to go flying into him. He was a tangled mess on the floor, Miles standing above him with his coat in one hand and Waylon’s shoe in the other.

“Get up.”

He gripped the side of the red car and shakily pulled himself to his feet. A slight dribble of scarlet blood stuck to the side of Waylon’s head. Miles gave him a sympathetic look and reached his hand to touch the wound.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Waylon screamed, scrambling backwards, finding a brick wall behind him. His breath was coming in short bursts, hyperventilating, “You- You fucking psychopath! Miles! Where- Who- Why? Why did you- Why am I here?” Tears rolled down his cheeks, making his burning face shine. 

Miles ambled up to him, pinning his shoulder against the wall with one hand and used his knee to lock Waylon’s leg to the wall. He sighed and leaned into his lover’s face, “It’ll be ok. Just come on this one, little errand with me! I promise, I’ll fix this, ok?” He caressed Waylon’s face, the brush of skin of skin made the blond’s mind wander, warmth spreading again.

Miles leaned closer, their faces just barely touching. Waylon felt his breath on his cheek as he turned his head towards the brick wall, shutting his eyes and biting the inside of his lip. A hand moved from his face to his hip. Rough skin moved up and down on soft fabric. 

Cracked lips touched scarred skin. Movements of molten glass arrived on a taught face. Whispers of reassurance were mumbled through flypaper and cotton.

Waylon released a sigh.

“Okay. Okay, I trust you, Miles. But I’m going to need answers. I need to know-” He pushed Miles off of him with his free arm.

Miles cut off the blond’s sentence, “I know, I promise I will tell you what’s going on. When we get back home. We can talk when we get home. I just need you for this one thing.”

Waylon hesitated, and nodded, letting Miles take his hand and lead him down the alleyway. 

\-----

They were sent to a dingy backroom of some nondescript storefront by some anonymous man. 

The two men were sat on an old, dirty couch. Miles had thrown a loose arm around Waylon’s slight shoulders. There was the thick, suffocating scent of nicotine in the air. Waylon held in a cough as he recrossed his legs, anxiety creeping. He resisted the urge to bounce his leg to release some energy, instead, he leaned his head onto Miles’ chest. He heard the younger man exhale through his nose, like a silent chuckle. He closed his eyes and felt Miles’ hand move to his shoulder and rub circles on it. Electricity sparked where he touched, Waylon moved closer to him and let the strong arm pull him closer.

“Hey, you, Upshur, get that blondie off you and follow me,” A gruff, muscled man stood in a doorway, an identical man just behind him.

Miles raised an eyebrow, adjusting his seated position so he could lean forward on his spread apart knees, “Leave the pretty boy alone with you two? I don’t think so, he’s coming with me.”

Waylon felt small, everyone around him looming with the walls, filling in shadows. Miles tugged him off the couch and wrapped his arm around his waist.

“If he causes any trouble, you’re dead, Upshur. And we’ll,” The second man started, “be keeping your pretty boy.”

They both glared down the brunette, Miles shooting an equal gaze back at them. He shoved past them, keeping his hand tightly around Waylon’s waist, securing him to his side. A large hand appeared on his small shoulder, gripping tightly enough to bruise. The twin yanked the smaller man towards him and leaned to his ear, hot, rancid breath against his face.

“We’re gonna have fun with you. Even if your daddy over there survives,” His brother blocked the entrance behind them and followed closely.

Waylon swallowed harshly, looking to Miles for help. All he did was turn and scoff, “You cocky little-”

He was cut off by the sudden arrival of a woman at the back of the room. The twins stood straight, releasing Waylon’s shoulder and clearing their throats in perfect unison. Miles rolled his shoulders back and pulled Waylon back to his side, hand drifting to the small of his back. He stared straight ahead, not looking directly at the woman but not looking past her. Waylon’s eyes drifted to the floor and he stared at his shoes. Nervously, he began to wring his hands, twisting his fingers and rubbing his own knuckles.

Slowly, the woman began to come into full view. She was tall, unnaturally so. Bright blonde hair that had been cut short, showing off a sharp jawline. She was lanky, palms resting on the desk in front of her. She lowered herself into the chair behind it and looked up at the four men standing in front of the doorway. 

“Close the door,” She spoke, her voice was hot wax, vaguely sweet, crawling through the air into Waylon’s ears. The vowels were drawled, a slight rasp in the back of it.

One of the twins quickly shut the door and moved to stand on either side of it. They were guards to this wretched place. 

She beckoned Miles forward, and as he took Waylon up she raised a pale eyebrow. Miles’ glance back at him and nodded. Waylon went back to standing in front of the door, feeling the presence of the twins a little too well. He watched as the brunette sauntered up to meet the sitting woman. He dragged a chair out with his foot and plopped down into it, leaning his elbows on the desk and propping his chin up on his hands. 

“So. . . I came to tell you that-”

“Shut up, Miles,” The once stone-faced woman broke a smile, taking Miles’ hands into her own. Cold fingers meeting shattered hand.

They both stood up and shared an awkward, leaning over the desk, “It’s good to see you, Val.”

“Good to see you too, Miles. Shit, we haven’t seen each other in what, four, five years? A few months after I got out of rehab?” The woman, now known to be Val, leaned back in her chair.

“Yeah, that seems ‘bout right. But in all seriousness, I came here for a reason-”

“Am I not a reason?” Val’s hand flung to her heart, fake offense on her face.

“You are a reason! Just not this reason. I need to borrow one of your cars for a job. The Jeep won’t cut it this time. One of my friends, you know him, Blake, wants to go back-”

“Blake, as in the Blake from Arizona? No. I’m not giving you a car. Especially if he wants to go back there. I can’t be responsible for him. Ask someone else or just use your own damn Jeep,” Val crossed her arms, staring Miles down with disdain.

“Come on, Val! It’s not for him, it’s for me. If anything happens to him, it will be on me. Besides, what do you care? You haven’t seen him in forever! Fucking Hell, can’t you just help me out?” Miles stood, pushing the chair backwards and leaning on the desk.

The twins started to move and Val’s eyes shot to them, holding a hand up. They moved back against the wall, glowering as they did. Waylon took a sharp inhale, fearing what could come next. 

“Sit the fuck down, Upshur. I said no. I can’t and won’t help you. I’ll give you some money to get your damn car fixed, that’s it. Now, please, I have some other clients who actually need my help for good reasons,” She shooed Miles out of her office. Before she was able to get him out, she stopped.

Val took Waylon’s hand and examined his bony fingers. She scoffed, glanced at Miles’ and back at Waylon’s.

“Full set, eh? What, you get lucky in there?” Val dropped his hand and looked him up and down. Being the shortest in the room fell on Waylon’s shoulders like bricks. He was suddenly hyper aware of Val’s immense height.

“Leave him alone, he’s my boyfriend,” Miles walked between the two.

“Does he have a name and can he speak?” Val spat.

“Waylon. His name is Waylon Park, and yes, he can speak,” Waylon set his hand on Miles' shoulder and spoke directly to the woman.

She raised her eyebrows and a slight smile appeared, “I like this one, Miles,” She smiled and clapped her hands together, “Well, why don’t you two stay for drinks? After the next fool who walks in, I’m done for the day. The boys can man the front.”

“Actually, we were planning to go-” Waylon started, tugging on Miles’ coat. He was cut off by an uproarious Miles.

“Of course! We’d love to stay! If that’s alright with you, Way?” Miles turned to the blond and started with puppy-dog eyes.

“I- Miles, please, I want to go home. I need to talk to you,” He curled and uncurled his fists at his sides.

Miles sighed, and turned to Val, and apologetically said, “Sorry, but not tonight. Maybe another time!”

She nodded, “Fine, see you two later! I’ll give you the check next week, alright? Use it to fix your car this time, please.”

Miles laughed and waved as they walked out the door they had come in. 

Waylon memorized the storefront’s appearance and made a mental note to go back there.

He cautiously got into the passenger seat of the red Jeep and stared out the window. He felt a hand on his thigh and held it, squeezing his lover’s hand in his own. 

Miles’ hand stayed on his thigh for the duration of the car ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive me father, for i have sinned- i have made the weirdest shit and the hardest storyline to follow asdfgtyj-


	4. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These boys kiss??? (They're sad and there's a sink-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Itty bitty bit of NSFW uwu- idk, man- i'm tired- sorry this took long, brain shutdown-

Waylon opened the door to their house and stepped into the dark entrance hall. The sun had begun to set and it had gotten colder and darker once they got home. He fumbled for the light switch and hit it, illuminating the dining room and hallway leading to their bedroom. He sighed and set his bag by the door and hung his coat on the rack.

Pale light filtered through the windows and sent shadows sprawling across the floor. The beep and fwoosh of the air conditioner turning on sent dust particles into the air, highlighted by light. Waylon watched the taller man shut the door behind him and toss his things onto the floor haphazardly. Waylon opened his mouth to tell him to be neat and then shut it, biting his lip.

Miles threw his eyes towards him, “What is it, baby?”

Waylon swallowed, “Nothing, but please, can you tell me what the Hell happened? You, you hurt me. I bled because of you, Miles. Why?”

“Come here,” Miles spoke softly, opening his arms to Waylon’s small body, “I know what I did was, well, bad. I know, but I did it so you wouldn’t get hurt more. That sounds dumb and is a really, really shitty excuse, but it’s true. Those two men, the big ones? They weren’t lying about hurting you, I know they weren’t.”

He paused, rubbing Waylon's back and kissing his head. He felt the small man shake, sobbing into his shoulder. Miles softly pushed him off his shoulder, warmth in his eyes, “Do you want to sit down?”

Waylon nodded and pulled his sleeve over his hand to dry the tears off his face. Miles took his hand gently and led him to their small couch. He collapsed onto it immediately, curling himself into a small ball. Miles sat down next to him, giving him space but still keeping a comforting hand on the blond’s shoulder.

“Miles?” Waylon’s voice cracked.

“Yes?”

“Did they. . . did they hurt you?” Waylon sat up and put his hand onto Miles’.

He looked away and to the window, he ran a hand through thick hair and blinked away forming tears. Miles nodded, “Yeah, yeah, they did. Back in the- in Mount Massive. I don’t really talk about it, only with Lynn, not even in therapy sessions. When we drink together, we let things slip, it’s mutual.”

Waylon smiled sympathetically and leaned onto Miles, burying his face into his neck. His hand rubbed his lover’s back, “It’s okay, we have each other now. They can’t hurt you and he-” Waylon stopped, “He can’t get me. We’ll be okay.”

“God, I love you,” Miles took Waylon’s face in his hands and pulled him in for a kiss. Hands wandered and rested on the other’s hips, pulling them together.

The smaller man let his whole being melt into the action. They became one being, filled with both longing and care. He heard sighs of contentment come from Miles. He wished he could see the smile he knew was there. But he was comfortable. He felt warm. 

Waylon broke their kiss and let his eyes map Miles’ face. He sighed, feeling tears well again, he loved this man. Though they had horrible rough patches and he knew there were issues, both men were royally fucked. However, through it all, Waylon knew that he was loved, he knew that he was safe. He had been hyper aware of both their hurt since they met. He knew that there’d be more issues than he would’ve liked when they had their first date. He knew there would have to be work done, from both of them. Some of that had been done. He didn’t know which ones they’d have to work out.

Miles tugged on Waylon’s shirt collar, “You alright, love? You left for a second there.”

“I got lost in your eyes,” A stupid smile spread across Waylon’s lips.

“Oh my fucking God, Way- I can’t with that stupid line,” Miles cringed, his whole face scrunching up.

Waylon laughed and as he leaned into Miles, he let his hands rest on Miles’ thighs. He bit his lip, considering his next actions carefully. Should he? He should.

With little hesitation, Waylon swung a leg across Miles’ lap and straddled the man. He watched the burnett's face flush red as he turned his eyes away. Gently, Waylon coaxed him to turn back to him. He rolled his lips lightly against the other man, taking immense pleasure from the sigh that emerged. 

Miles glared at him, “You- you can’t just do stuff like that, Way,” Miles groaned as Waylon did it again, this time leaning down to kiss his jaw.

Waylon hummed, smiling as he continued to kiss and nip at Miles’ neck and jawline. He let Miles thread his hand through his hair and felt him lightly tug at it. Waylon moved back to Miles’ mouth and he paused, thoughts ran through his head.

“You alright, Way? You’ve been staring at me for a few,” Miles sat up, gently moving the man to sit next to him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Waylon sighed and put his hand on Miles’ face, his eyes glazed over as if he wasn’t really present.

“Thank you, baby, but I’m going to need to get up,” Miles carefully removed the blond’s hand off his face and held it between them so it was near his own face.

“Why are you leaving?” Waylon looked perplexed.

Miles kissed his boyfriend’s hand, “Sh, it’s okay, I’m just getting some water, it won’t take me long.”

Waylon nodded begrudgingly, slightly disappointed. Miles smiled and ruffled the short hair as he got off the couch. As he stepped away, he felt Waylon’s sad gaze follow him as he turned behind the wall to the kitchen.

\-----

He leaned over front of the sink for a solid three minutes, his mind racing. The events of the day played back in his thoughts. Miles ran a hand through his now-messed up hair. He stopped and turned so he was slightly sitting on the counter as he surveyed the cabinets. He went to rummage through one for two cups and began to run the faucet.

He heard rusting from the living room and froze, despite knowing that it was just Waylon moving to get him. His head swiveled to face him while he was still holding a cup under the running water.

“Shit,” Miles quickly turned off the sink and grabbed a hand towel to dry off his hand and the cup. He looked up while working and smiled warmly at Waylon, “Hey, bud, how are you doing?”

Waylon looked mostly normal, just tired. He nodded, “Fine, I guess. I don’t know. Just, can you please come back to the couch?”

Miles looked at him with a deep sadness in his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Go sit back down, don’t- don’t worry about me,” he played off another half-assed smile.

Waylon bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. He backed out of the kitchen and Miles heard him flop on the couch. He let out a sigh, relaxed his shoulders, rolled his head around, and then grabbed the cups to leave the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok- see ya later-


	5. Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcoholism and emotional 180's are a good mix, right? R-right??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is a. terrible b. chaos. c. i planned out this whole multi-chapter/layered story and now we're here-  
> uh- gonna make an update post about this hhhh-

He was back. He was back. He couldn’t be back. 

Dark hallways stretched on and on and on and on and

Waylon ran. His legs wouldn’t falter this time. He wouldn’t fall.

That sickening voice rang through his ears again and bugs crawled over his skin. 

Footsteps grew louder and louder. Thunder boomed around him. Towering waves drowned him.

Waylon felt a hand grip his shoulder and knives burst through his blood vessels. Hot breath brushed his ear and swallowed the senses. Words clawed into his ear and he screamed. 

It stopped.

Waylon’s voice was cut off. He woke up in a dark room. His room. How and Miles’ room. He was safe. He took a deep breath and wiped the cold sweat off his brow. He murmured reassurance to himself and looked to his partner. Miles was still asleep, his face barely illuminated by the faint glow from the clock. He looked peaceful. Something Waylon hadn’t seen in his expression for a very long time. 

“I wish I knew you before. . . Before this,” Waylon whispered to the sleeping man. 

He slowly slid himself off the side of the bed and slipped a sweater on over his head. As he left the carpeted room, his toes curled on the cold hardwood of the hallway. He turned his phone flashlight on and walked into the kitchen. Waylon kept the lights off as he grabbed a mug and started the kettle.

As the water heated, wind whistled down the street and the sounds seeping through the walls of the house. Cold permeated the wood and nail and made Waylon’s toes curl. He sniffled and rummaged through a drawer for a tea bag. The kettle clicked off and steam rose into the air. He poured the boiling water into the mug and watched the colour seep from the bag and mix into the water. 

Waylon took the dripping bag and placed it into the trash can, making sure to wipe off the spots of tea that had gotten on the lid. The first sip brought the warmth he longed for into his body. This feeling had been missed for so long. Being alone and feeling like he was experiencing something so pure. He let the warmed porcelain steady his hands and allow heat to bring life back to his bones. Waylon allowed his eyes to close and his body to relax into the kitchen counter. He took in a deep breath. 

\-----

The cup had been finished and so had several many more. 

It was early.

Too early for him to be doing this again.

“FUCK!”

It was the first time Waylon had opened his mouth to do anything but drink. His head was swimming and body felt heavy.

A door slammed open down the hall, “Way?!”

And he heard Miles coming closer to the kitchen. There was urgency to his steps and finally, the silhouette of a man appeared in the hallway’s threshold. A thin halo of lights which came from the bedroom made him look angelic. 

“Waylon?” Miles walked up to him cautiously and his brow furrowed.

The other man’s eyes were tear-filled and pained, “I’m sorry. . .”

His voice was incredibly weak. He looked smaller than ever as he stood, shaking in the freezing room.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Miles rested a light hand on Waylon’s shoulder. He flinched away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Miles backed away and pulled a chair from the table, “Do you want to sit down?”

Waylon shook his head and continued to stand. Miles pulled another chair out and sat down, having the other open just in case he changed his mind. He leaned forward on his knees and watched the disheveled man, stripped down to only his bones and chemicals. It wasn’t his soul anymore, it was the broken glass at the end of a long bartending shift. It was the dried blood burning on the asphalt behind a dumpster. 

Waylon looked past the seated man and into empty space. His eyes were so full yet so empty. It was pitiful. He had gone through Hell and could barely keep it together. After years and years of therapy, hospital visits, wards, he thought he could stop. And he did. He made the choice to just stay on medication and use the money to help Miles more. Miles is the one that was tortured and mauled. He had the scars and marks to show it.

“Miles?”

The sickly voice made the other man sit up, “Yeah?”

His shoulder rose as Waylon drew in a breath, “I- I think, know, I should go back.”

“To therapy? Of course, if you don’t want to see Lynn, I can ask her for some-”

“No.” Waylon shot his gaze to Miles.

A quizzical look came across Miles’ face, “You want to go back to a ward?”

Waylon swallowed the lump forming in his throat and nodded, “Yeah. I mean, look at me! I’m a wreck.” He laughed and shook his head.

“It’s alright,” Miles stood up and took Waylon’s hand in his own, he didn’t move away. “We’d have to talk to some people. But honestly, Way, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Last time you were there, you didn’t do anything, you just stayed quiet. It helped, but not the way it should have.”

Waylon gave him a look and pulled away to take a seat. He rubbed his temples and sighed, “Miles. . .”

“You have a job and a house and- Just- We can get you into therapy and see where that goes. I can see about rehab or a ward after some time, okay?” 

Waylon begrudgingly nodded and slumped over in his chair. He looked at Miles, “I’m exhausted.”

He scoffed in response, “Course you are, you woke up at some ungodly hour of the night-”

“Morning.”

“Yeah, whatever. Ungodly hour of the morning and drank several cans of beer. I’ll call Alex and see if someone can take over your techie job, or whatever the Hell it is you do there.”

“I- Thanks, Miles. It’s been rough the past few days, weeks, and yesterday was just- God, I don’t even know. It was a lot. It hurt,” The man leaned onto the back of his chair and blinked away reforming tears.

Miles pulled the other chair closer to him so it was facing the blond head-on. He pleased both hands on the other’s face and pulled him close so they were leaning on each other's foreheads. Miles took a breath in, his voice was gentler than it usually was, “Do you want to start counseling together?”

The last syllables seem to lose their sound and Waylon looked into the broken man, “Yeah, yeah let’s start there.”

Miles smiled and they stayed there, leaning on each other.

The feeling would come back. Sooner or later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h e l p me-


	6. Update/Hiatus Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lmao yall im dead-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop-   
> yes, i did just post a new chapter, b u t-

Hey guys, I have no idea if anyone reads this actively- but if you haven’t noticed, this story is everywhere!!! Yay!!!

Yeah- we have my plan for a separate series(??) which follows Blake and Lynn going back to Arizona (with Val?? owo -kill me-), the work B-plot (more of a C-plot, b u t-) which i will be carrying out (its written down in my notes app, dw yall-), the marriage/relationship progression line (i have 2 ideas which are scrawled in my old school planner), and then therapy route introduced in chpt. 5-

In other words- there’s a lot going on in my stroy-brain.

School also has been picking up and my workload shot up at the end of last semester so im basically writing in class and whenever i have any nugget of free time. Which takes a toll on my mental health, so i’m really only writing for about 2-3 hours a week. 

Shit’s happening in personal life- so, i’ll be writing when i can, hopefully starting blake/lynn and pre-writing a few chapters for this one. I’ll post when i have one fully written and other’s started-

I’m not stopping, i love these characters and my ideas, im just a terrible executioner. When you chose to have a giant plot that youve underdeveloped and try to write that down as a re-budding writer, it kinda sucks-

But i’ll be back later, and if you want to know more stuff/questions/ideas/whatever, comment them or reach me on discord (same username as here and then #0958) if you do use discord, just tell me where the hell you’re from lmao-

see ya guys on the flipside,  
Sire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peace, yall

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo, boy! There is definitely an error or two (seventy is a better an estimate) in there, but I hope you liked it! I will be continuing this particular storyline later on, whether it be next week or year, there will be more.


End file.
